Influences
by Mesataki
Summary: "You are my conscience, Father." An examination of three different endings of BioShock 2 and the relationship between Delta and Eleanor Lamb.
1. The Beast

Shrapnel burrowing its way underneath his suit, crushing water smashing into him, blinded by billions of white bubbles, Delta was in a sea of chaos. Giant, heavy arms splayed in front of him, he sought purchase against the surface of the rescue boat, sliding backwards as his clumsy fingers scrabbled for a hold, and at last, his hand closed on the railing, dangling off the side as he rocketed up and up.

The force was akin to the feeling of having his arm torn off of him, and with a pained roar, his other hand flew up and caught hold. Ragged, pained breathing filled his ears, shivering with every breath as he hoisted himself up and over, landing prone with a muffled clang.

Battered, but still alive, he continued to edge his way towards the center of the craft, vision violently blurring and slipping into dark oblivion. Each movement was agony, but an animal rage numbed the pain, only pushing him forward. His instinct was to survive no matter the consequences, and the consequences were damning.

Hands pressed against the glass, the silent predator watched as the creature who called him father reached up and grabbed her mother by the leg. With a forceful yank, the one named Eleanor drowned her own mother without remorse, leaving the corpse to drift in the flooded vehicle. Spotting him, she swam up close to the glass, pressing her own hand upon it. Almost longingly, she looked out and up to him. He stared down at her, no emotion stirred from the display of cruelty, no guilt stemming from the knowledge her actions were solely influenced by the observation of his merciless aggression.

Whatever went through Eleanor's mind, Delta would never know - for what is a monster but a creature without empathy? But if he could look into her mind - if he could perhaps examine his legacy, he would see his own reflection in her: a skewed being shed of morals. Unlike the beast that had spawned her, Eleanor was with a greater capacity for power. Lamb had given her the tools, and Delta, the drive to become great. In her was a murderer whose mind was stained before she even killed her first victim. Many of her sisters were quick to follow, and with her mother as her latest trophy, there was nothing holding her back. Delta had bred the death of the world, and world's end was looking up to him, seeking approval.

And though he was the one who molded her into the creature that stood before him, killed the sisters that she had been once so closely connected to, there was no regard in his eyes. No acknowledgment, just a silent stare through the roar of the water around them. She must have screamed, fingers curling against the glass as it cracked, but he was deaf to her in more ways than one.

They struck the surface, the sheer force throwing him to the ground where he was unable to get up. Drained of any remaining strength, he laid facing the tremendous, stormy clouds above them. Eleanor was there with them, standing over his prone form. It was a strange reversal: the child having shown unconditional love, and now denied of the approval she so desperately sought, towered above him. She pried off her helmet, throwing it callously to the ground before affixing her attention to her father.

Her skin was pale, white almost in the dim light, but there was no mistaking the numbness in her dull eyes. An unreadable emotion upon her face, she knelt down to him, poising the needle above his chest. What she was about to do, as father had taught her, was perfectly natural.

She told herself that, but the truth was that everything was so abnormal, so perverse about their lives that the word held the opposite meaning. What was natural about a daughter committing patricide? The answer, the _truth_ buried deep within the sea of amorality: it was not.

Weak and as close to death as he was, Delta still resisted. His leaden hand reached up to shove the needle away; Eleanor took his hand, the hand of a murderer and a beast, and forced it back down. With a fast, precise movement, the needle sank into his chest. He gasped, feeling all that remained draining into the glowing vial.

Eleanor watched him disappear.

_And then Father, the Rapture dream was over._

Her hands… she gripped them once as if testing their resolve. These hands, she thought, had plunged into the stomachs of Little Sisters, reached past the pained spasms of the girls' bodies, and ripped out the slug without repentance. She could still remembered on how the little creature squirmed so vigorously in her hands, fighting for its life before she crushed it easily and absorbed its essence. Their ADAM flowed freely in her body, filling her with unparalleled strength. A murderer she may be, but in the end what does it matter, ethics? Nicety was a means of deference to a superior or peer, and no one was stronger than she. It served to tie her down, force others to their knees as they succumbed to the poison of the altruism her mother had so obsessively worshipped. And where was dear Mother? Dead, just like her little Family.

_You taught me that innocence is a chrysalis, a phase designed to end. _

No more was she Lamb's daughter. Her name was Eleanor, and as for the family name, let Mother carry it with her to the grave; it was meaningless to her anyway. Her eyes went to the meters on her arm. The thin needles spun erratically, proof of the strength she had claimed. Father's memories were the only thing she would carry with her from her days as a lost Lamb. He had not loved her as a father would to his daughter, but she had loved him, and that was enough. Never did it occur to her that the elder Lamb never meant to harm her daughter, and that Lamb was trying to shape her daughter to becoming something great. Her attempts were only half-realized. Eleanor reveled in the potent strength of Delta's ADAM.

_Only when we are free from it, do we know ourselves. _

The dream of reaching the surface had been fulfilled. Her limbs were now freed from the shackles that once held her down, and the world was at her fingertips. She could survive any battle, solve any equation, and win over anyone with her guile and charm; and all of these abilities were now dedicated solely to her own personal pleasure. Lamb had failed to take into account what would happen if her daughter had become a monster, and the animal strode confidently to the railing to stare into the depths of the stormy seas as if waiting for a new purpose to reach her. In mere moments, a frozen face appeared, attached to the still body of a splicer. Several more floated the surface as evidence of the gallons of blood spilt. She had been at the root of it, and the idea that it was her fault so many had died and perished, was lost to her. She was an orphan; one of woe's many children, but she was bothered little and was more transfixed on the idea of visiting a beach. She wondered what sand would feel like.

_You showed me that my survival, my joy, are all that matter. _

Would the rain stop by the time she had reached her destination, she wondered? That was something beyond her ability of control. She decided she did not like that and picked up her helmet, fitting it back in its place before securing it. She didn't know which way was closest to the shoreline, but she had heard of a place called America mentioned many times in Rapture; more so than the war-torn continent of Europe. Surely the beaches would be warmer westward than eastward? Whatever the case, it did not matter. She slipped into the ice-cold water, barely even feeling the frigid temperature as she glided just below the surface. Below, the faint lights of Rapture could barely just be seen. She did not give it so much as a glance.

_I indulge, nothing else exists._

Eleanor wanted the world, but the world was not ready for her.


	2. The Man

He panicked, heavy arms swinging around as he tried to grab onto something – anything to prevent him from sinking into the darkness. Pain wracked his body – the heat of agony melded together with the ice-cold sea. His suit was breached; he needed the surface.

Though blinded by the billions of bubbles, his hand managed to clamp around the sturdy steel of the railings of the ascending escape pod. He struggled hard not to lose his grip, and in a moment of weakness, he turned to Rapture. One building loomed in front of them: Fontaine Futuristics. The mere sight of it returned the forcibly repressed memories of experimentation. He had been a lab rat in their hands, subjected to the torment of the needle and made to perform like an animal on the leash. He wished he hadn't remembered, because every sensation of every act and plasmid came back to him. The blissfully oblivious crowd then had no idea what it was like to have a plasmid injected straight into the blood. It was change in the most brutal manner, and the worst of changes were the ones uninvited.

He turned back to railing, lifting his other arm to the post and dragging himself up onto the side. Pushing himself away from the rails, he fell onto his front, gravity conspiring against him. It seemed so far away, and his vision was so faint, a few feet became a few miles. Yet, he had to go there – not because he wanted to, but because choice was merely an illusion. Circumstance dictated what brought him here, and if he had a choice from the beginning, he would've just focused on his own survival, but there was Eleanor. He didn't know if it was real love or conditioning that made him feel compelled to be at her side and protect her, but it was there nonetheless. Was it a choice for a guardian to go after his ward? Or a father to save his daughter?

Unable to stand up, he was forced to drag himself across the surface, fingers digging into the grooves as he crawled like an animal to the glass. The world blackened around him continuously, fluctuating into intensity as it threatened to swallow himself whole. For now, he shrugged it off, leaning against the glass as he fought to stand up. There within the flooded escape pod were two Lambs – one he had sacrificed everything to save and the other everything to oppose. He watched Eleanor intently; the girl had so desperately sought to be like him – would she murder her own mother as she did the children? Perhaps his presence had an effect on her – Eleanor seemed to falter for a moment. He could see in her hand was an oxygen mask, but he knew she only had it because she was still uncertain. It was not black and white to her as it should have been, and Delta knew he was at fault for that. He had saved, and he had killed.

Making up her mind, Eleanor swam up and thrust the mask to her mother – as if angry for feeling familial duty for someone who had caused so much pain. Delta watched without a perceptible emotion. There was something in him that stirred in his hollow chest, but he was unable to interpret what it was. Wordlessly, he gave a small tilt of his head. Approval, and even if it was in the slightest of forms, Eleanor drifted closer to him, pressing a hand to the glass as if she was trying to reach out to him. He stared at the gloved hand that was not unlike his own for a moment before turning his head skyward – or to the surface at least.

White flooded his vision.

He was blind. His knees buckled without the sea's support and he collapsed onto his back where he could only see stormy clouds. How could it be so bright when the sky was so dark? Where was the sun Eleanor had wanted to see? He couldn't breathe again – couldn't feel anything except a numb feeling washing over his body underneath the suit. He accepted it then. The terms for survival were out of his reach, and he was but a shell of a man that already died years ago. A shadow hung above him, leaning down close to get a better look at him. In him, she could see the only vestige of Rapture worth keeping – all of his memories and motives could be hers. Every part of his mind would be preserved through her, and somehow, he was revolted by the thought. She would be inheriting his legacy as a murderer – a beast. It was something he could not allow. There was still a fragment of his humanity yet preserved, and he felt that it was through this little shard that he could seem to only empathize with Eleanor.

The needle was poised over his chest, and determined reluctance flashed into her eyes. But there was still indecision in her eyes. He saw that she wanted to be like him in every way possible, but he could not allow this. As he pushed it away, her face fell into confusion. She was hurt, and he could feel every bit of it. But as her father, he must bear the burden of hurting her to give her a future – her future untainted by his fatalistic journey through Rapture. There would be no ruinous creature crawling through her head, whispering every instinct and urge into her ear as she succumbed to raw emotion. It was for her and for him, and it was his choice. Death was inevitable and unconquerable – and if it wanted to take him into oblivion, it was to be on his own terms.

Lines of water flowed from her pale face. He was uncertain whether they came from the light drizzle dousing both of them or if they were the product of her sadness. He didn't know, and his head rolled to the side, watching her reach for his arm. She dropped the needle, letting it clatter to the ground, and slowly, he felt himself being dragged to the ocean. For a moment, he thought Eleanor would send him back to the depths where he had begun, but she didn't. Instead, his arm was draped over the side where his hand just dipped into the sea. His reflection gazed back up again, and though he had no face, his resignation to his fate was obvious.

Eleanor joined him at his side, letting her legs hang over as she sat hunched over. He managed to use the last of his strength to face her, and father and daughter met eyes for the final time. Eleanor, unable to bear the sight of his life decaying before her, looked away. She carefully wiped a tear away from her eyes, and a spark of guilt flashed through him. As Subject Delta, his choices were never the best. He survived, but he only saved a few Little Sisters as if the act brought some form of comfort to the then ever-distant Eleanor. She was confused and orphaned all at once – and he knew it was his own doing. He erred, but what did it all matter in the end when he was dead and gone? Eleanor didn't need his legacy – just the freedom he had gifted to her.

He shifted onto his back – Eleanor seeming to start for him should he fall. The gesture, though small, was not unnoticed. She loved him, and he was leaving her; but facing death without having to watch her would prove easier on his mind. By now, the storm had cleared – the clouds breaking above the Rapture Lighthouse. And then there it was: the sun. He wondered what she was thinking – was the sun pretty to her? Or was it simply too bright of a light? They had both fought for this moment to see it and seize the day together, but now it would pass unfulfilled. He could only imagine the agony the girl could only be feeling.

His world darkened again, and he knew it would be for the last time. Alone in the cold morning, Eleanor watched him fade away. Only three words were etched into her conscious thought, and these words would be there every day in her mind.

_I miss you_.


	3. The Father

He was floating in a sea of white. For a moment, he forgot who he was and thus, forgot the pain that ebbed within the confines of his suit. It was blissful if not for a moment, but then his vision cleared as a line of rails sprung up in his vision. Sluggish arms reached out and held tightly – the movement seeming dreamlike in the calm blue of the ocean. In a split-second, the brief tranquility was shattered as he was brought up to the surface with the roar of the engines following at his heel.

He watched Rapture fade into the ocean, invisible eyes holding the city in silent regard. This used to be a paradise. He remembered elegant masquerade parties – clean floors and bright halls. People were smiling and laughing over the news of the day so far. There was a time when he didn't exist and when Eleanor was too young to remember – and that time was as close to paradise as it could get underneath the sea. All of this had fallen with the introduction of single substance. The snake, Fontaine, had offered an apple of ADAM, and Rapture, unsuspecting and vibrant, had taken a bite and succumbed to the slow poison of avarice and corruption. Was the perfect world so fallible that it could be toppled easily? He could only wonder if the utopia Ryan had so feverishly sought could ever exist in a world ruled by men.

He took hold of the rail post and pulled himself over. There was pain in every moment, but it was passing and receded like water upon the shore. Every ache and sting he felt was numbed by railed determination carrying him forth. This was all he could do for her. She wanted for him to live, but he knew in his rapidly deteriorating state that her wish was impossible the moment their physiological bond had been severed. He only hoped that if they could be reunited one last time that the passing would be easier. For now, he could only bear the weight of the ocean until they reached topside. He had survived death, and surely, he could last a little longer.

Stumbling, he passed by the second set of inner rails and leaned against the scratched glass, looking inwards. There was Eleanor and Lamb. Where were the Little Sisters? They had gone into the escape pod as well, hadn't they? He ceased his worrying as he watched the glide over to Lamb, every movement smooth and graceful as if she had been swimming all her life. Such perfection had been instilled into her, and he could only wonder the limits of her seemingly infinite potential. If she wanted to devastate the world, he had no doubt that was entirely possible for her, and if she wanted to protect it, there would be no better guardian than she.

The girl offered an oxygen mask to her mother, showing mercy despite all the trials she and her father had been forced to withstand. In this gesture, there was forgiveness and compassion that could only have come from within. Eleanor always had strong ethics and morality deep engrained into her mind, but she treasured her bond with him above all else. He could only venture an assumption that their relationship was only due to Suchong's intervention in their lives. He had never asked for a daughter, and surely, Eleanor never meant to be separated from her caretakers. Pure circumstance had brought them together, and as the first successful Protector, he was the beginning of a terrible lineage as Eleanor sparked the dawn of a strange web of relations between Little Sisters and their Big Daddies. They had pioneered the pairbond, and as a result, Delta was to die from it. He was not angry – how could he? There was something strangely compelling about them, and it was something he could not describe at first.

But then he knew, because how could he not recognize his family? The same blood may not course through both of their veins, but the same drives, thoughts, and love were all mutual and shared.

For something so wonderful, could it be real? Rapture was said to be utopia, and it had fallen into shambles – a mere vestige of its former glory it could never hope to re-attain. It had been built by a frustrated man and his desire for true freedom. Delta and Eleanor's love had been birthed in a laboratory and baptized with neurological chemicals. Their purpose had only been to provide and supply for the greedy. With a such a flawed existence, how could it possibly be tangible?

Regardless, something existed between them that grew steadily. The simple reliance of the girl had been the root of instincts that went further than mere guardianship. Young Eleanor had then surely sensed the subtle shifts within their time together. The little things – patting her on the head, carrying her to the vents, indulging in her pretend games – all added up, and their sum forged the unbreakable links of the their relationship. He was a father then – protecting and guiding her, and he was a father now. That was something Lamb could not hope to change, as even in death, he was still on Eleanor's mind.

Her visions led to his miraculous resurrection, and it seemed that if he could rescue her, his forbearance would be rewarded by regained unity. They would have been father and daughter, walking through the valley of shadows hand in hand. They would have stood triumphant, ready to embrace their earned freedom.

But it was something that wasn't meant to be.

He was bathed in light, the bright sky stripping away the layers of darkness that clung to him. On his back, he watched as the red sky was just beginning to welcome the sun with open arms. The night bled away into the warmth, and then Eleanor was there. Her helmet was gone, revealing her vibrant, young face as she kneeled down to him. Through the thick armor, he could feel the butterfly-like touch as she gently caressed his head. The movement was simple, but the mere gesture conveyed a sense of overwhelming love and admiration.

She took his hands and rested them upon his chest in the same manner as the angels. They locked gazes, Eleanor finding his eyes even through the glass that perpetually separated them. She raised the needle, the tip hovering over his chest. Words formed on his lips, but he could only mouth them unseen. Regardless, Eleanor smiled, a sad shine in her eyes as she carefully pressed down. The tip sunk in to the armor and skin easily, but strangely there was no pain. There was only simple peace.

_"The Rapture Dream is over, but in waking, I am reborn. This world is not ready for me, yet here I am. It would be so easy to misjudge them."_

She stood up, eyes sweeping over the readings. Delta's ADAM was undeniably powerful, but despite it, there was restraint. The needles drifted to the edge but did not try to go any further. Eleanor removed the instrument of death, setting it carefully on the ground as she approached the edge of the escape pod. In her body, there was a strength that went beyond mere humans and brilliance that outshined any other. Looking into the calm waters, she saw her reflection and sought Father in her eyes. Several faces joined her, the little girls reminding her of her new responsibility. Eleanor accepted her guardianship without hesitation.

"_You are my conscience, Father, and I need you to guide me. You'll always be with me now, Father – your memories, your drives… And when I need you, you'll be there on my shoulder, whispering."_

One of the former Little Sisters handed her a small doll. It was a crudely cobbled together, but the effort went into making it was entirely apparent. It held a lot of memories for such a small toy, and she closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the fateful night on New Year's Eve. Then she thought no more of the day that had passed ten years ago and allowed the doll to slip from her hands. It glided into unseen depths. She didn't need it now that Father was with her.

_"If utopia is not a place but a people, then we must choose carefully for the world is about to change." _

The sun began to rise over the endless horizon. The new day was here, and she stood up, feeling its warmth for the first time.

"_And in our story, Rapture was just the beginning."_


End file.
